It has been strangely warm for this time of year; there has been mention of an Indian Summer. But I think that’s past now. The weather is still very mild though, mild and damp. Blue skies are still here but the grey clouds and drizzle are never far away, as if Autumn is here but Summer still feels a slight reluctance to let go and say goodbye until next year. The days a certainly shorter and the birch tree outside my window has lost all its leaves; golden triangles that swirled around the garden on each blustery gust. A late Red Admiral butterfly came fluttering around the door yesterday, perhaps looking for a hibernation site. Perhaps he will join the wasps and hoverflies and other insects that throng around the ivy flowers on every hedge and garden shed, joining the glorious final feast of nectar before his long winter sleep. Between the hedgerows, out in the fields the farmers are busy with the harvest. Convoys of tractors with vast trailers of grain, maize, and silage, wind down narrow country roads from farmstead to field, whilst thoughts are turning to conker championships, pumpkins and Halloween, warm stews, toffee apples and glowing sunsets at the end of the day.